


run on for a long time

by WeeBeastie



Series: night verse [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blood Drinking, Fluff and Angst, John Silver has a Tragic Past, M/M, Modern AU, Sex Work, Vampire Sex, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: he spoke to me in a voice so sweet, i thought i heard the shuffle of the angels' feethe called my name and my heart stood stillwhen he said 'john, go do my will'





	run on for a long time

**Author's Note:**

> Followup to my first installment of vampire AU, whee! You'll probably want to read that first so you're not too confused.
> 
> Title and lyrics in the description from "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by the one and only Johnny Cash. I also borrowed some lines of literature in this fic from Rumi and Shakespeare, credit where credit is due.
> 
> Thanks bunches to El and Elle because they're amazing. <3
> 
> Oh also, this shifts in POV from Silver to Flint and then stays Flint's POV. Dunno why, didn't plan for it, it just happened that way.

“No. Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Flint says, scowling.

Silver’s only just come alive for the evening, he and Flint haven't even gotten out of bed yet. He woke up to Flint’s hand in his boxers, had a bright idea, and then made his brilliant suggestion. Now Flint’s hand has quit stroking and withdrawn, though, and it's clear from his tone he doesn't like the idea. “But why?” Silver purrs, stretching, still half-asleep and more than half-hard.

“Why? Because I don't want to be naked on the internet, that's why,” Flint gripes, rolling away from Silver and getting out of bed.

“It would be so fun, though! The people who watch me all the time would love it. They've been really curious about you ever since I got turned. They want to meet my maker,” Silver jokes. He grabs his prosthetic leg from nearby and puts it on so he can stand on two feet, sauntering around the bed to stand in front of Flint. “You have to know how hot you are. They'd go crazy for you,” he says in his most seductive voice, appealing to Flint’s considerable ego.

“...crazy for me? They would, really?” Flint asks, looking down at Silver, his eyes hooded.

Hook. Line. Sinker. “Oh, definitely,” Silver purrs, leaning up to kiss Flint, deep and sweet and slow.

When Flint pulls back, his fangs are out, although he quickly puts them away like he thinks Silver won't see. “I’ll think about it,” he relents, eyeing Silver. “But if I agree to do it, it'll be on my terms.”

“Naturally. We wouldn't do anything you'd be uncomfortable with,” Silver assures Flint, grinning up at him. He kisses him again, soundly, then turns and leaves the bedroom to go downstairs. There's Ichor in the fridge and he's feeling hungry.

A few hours later, Silver is freshly bathed and wearing only a pair of loose sweatpants, his typical webcam show uniform. He sticks his head in the library downstairs, addressing Flint, who's rereading some boring Shakespearean whatever (Silver didn't finish high school, so he doesn't try to talk to Flint about literature much). “I’m gonna go upstairs and do the show...you want to come with me? Get internet famous? At least on a small, pervy corner of the internet.”

“I don't know,” Flint murmurs doubtfully, barely glancing up from his book. He's also freshly bathed, and is wearing striped silky pajamas like an old man.

“What, why? Are you shy? Are you... _ashamed_?” Silver asks, taking a calculated risk, his voice dripping with judgment. He's seen what mentioning shame around one James Flint does to him. He's not quite sure of the reasons behind it, but he'll still use it to his advantage.

It works. Flint slams the book shut and in an instant he's in front of Silver, practically snarling, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I am not ashamed. I never will be, ever again,” he says lowly, and Silver can tell he's touched a nerve. Excellent.

“Then come upstairs with me and fuck me on camera so other people can pay us to watch and get off on it,” Silver rumbles, looking challengingly at his maker.

“...fine,” Flint says. He follows Silver up the stairs to the bedroom and Silver can't help grinning a little, excited at the prospect of fucking Flint for an audience. He's always excited about the prospect of sex with Flint though, audience or no.

He shuts the bedroom door behind them and gets his laptop set up on the foot of the bed, arranging himself in front of it just so. He gets the camera feed going as Flint settles in next to him. “Hey everybody,” he greets the camera, grinning as the chat feature on his webcam site lights up with enthusiastic, filthy comments. “I have a guest here with me tonight, and if you all behave, you might just get to see him naked. This is my...” He hesitates, glancing at Flint. “...boyfriend. And also my maker. You can call him Daddy Flint.”

“God, no. Don't call me that, don't ever call me that,” Flint snarks, because apparently he likes ruining Silver’s good time.

“Captain, then?” Silver suggests, grinning over at him.

“Sure,” Flint says with a put-upon sigh, glancing over at Silver. “I still don't know how you got me to agree to this.”

“I have my ways,” Silver purrs, leaning over to kiss Flint’s neck. He starts unbuttoning Flint’s pajama shirt, eager to get him naked. He quickly forgets that the laptop is even there, that anyone is watching them, he's so focused on Flint. “Come here, Captain,” he whispers, running his fingers through Flint’s long, silky hair and kissing him again.

“Eager boy, aren't you?” Flint purrs back. He shrugs out of his pajama shirt once it's unbuttoned, then puts his hand in Silver’s sweatpants without preamble, drawing his cock out and stroking it slowly.

“Ah, fuck yeah,” Silver sighs, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He can feel that his fangs are out, but he doesn't bother even trying to put them away. What Flint is doing to him feels too good for him to control himself. He feels Flint manhandling him until he's in his lap, facing forward with Flint’s arms around him and Flint’s hand moving quickly on his cock.

“I think we ought to take the edge off before we continue, don't you?” Flint rumbles in his ear, and Silver cries out quietly, arching his back.

“Yeah, please, please,” Silver mutters, thrusting into Flint’s hand. “Please, I need--” he gasps, and then Flint’s sinking his fangs into his neck, giving him exactly what he needs.

He was a little concerned, at first, that after he turned things wouldn't be the same between him and Flint. That maybe Flint was only attracted to him because he was human. He even worried it wouldn't feel good anymore when Flint bit him.

How wrong he was, and how silly, too, to even worry about those things. If anything, it's even better with Flint than it was before. All Silver’s senses are heightened now, and while that does drive him crazy sometimes, it's ridiculously enjoyable in bed. It still feels just as good when Flint bites him, too, and he doesn't seem to be any less attracted to Silver now that he's not human.

Silver fucks up into Flint’s fist and comes hard, groaning and shivering. He feels Flint pull back from his neck and turns his head so he can bask in the sight of Flint, blood drunk, his eyes half-shut and his mouth open, fangs gleaming.

“You look so hot like that, it's insane,” Silver rumbles, then leans back against Flint, enjoying the afterglow.

“Thank you,” Flint sighs happily, and Silver can hear him licking blood off his teeth, which should not be an arousing noise, but.

Silver shifts out of Flint’s lap and kicks his sweatpants off, then rolls over to lie sideways across the bed on his stomach, sticking his ass up enticingly.

Flint laughs, and then Silver can hear him grabbing the lube off the nightstand and opening it. Silver feels his slick fingers pressing in and he pushes back eagerly against them, so turned on it's like he didn't just come moments ago. “You’re insatiable,” Flint says quietly, working his fingers deep in him, and oh, it's perfect.

“Always have been,” Silver agrees, squirming impatiently.

Later, once they've finished and are lying together in a naked, sticky, bloodied heap, Silver finally remembers the laptop and reaches out blindly to shut it. He yawns and stretches, feeling deeply satisfied.

“Now I need another shower,” Flimt mumbles against Silver’s neck. He's got one hand in Silver’s hair, idly twining a curl around his fingers.

“Me too,” Silver says, nuzzling Flint and scraping his fangs over his skin. “Can I shower with you?” he asks, biting him gently, not even enough to break the skin.

“You just want to talk me into more sex,” Flint says, pulling on Silver’s hair playfully.

“Yup,” Silver agrees, grinning.

 

\---

 

When Flint comes downstairs the next evening, having slept in a bit past sunset, he hears an unfamiliar female voice in the kitchen. He can also hear Silver, and the conversation the two are having is...interesting.

“You have no idea how grateful I am to you for this. I just miss it so much,” Silver is saying.

“It is kind of a strange request, but I understand it, at the same time. I would miss it, too,” the woman says.

Flint pauses in the doorway of the kitchen and takes in the scene. Silver is sitting at the kitchen table in his black Dixon Motorcycle Repair shirt with the sleeves torn out, barefoot and with his hair up in a messy topknot. He's also got his ridiculous floral print pants on, and Flint swears to himself that the next opportunity he has, he'll throw those things in the trash.

Opposite Silver is a truly stunning young woman, in her mid-to-late twenties if Flint had to guess. Her skin is much darker than Silver’s, and looks absolutely flawless. Her black hair is braided meticulously and pulled back away from her face, and she's wearing a dark blue shirt dress printed with a desert motif - cacti, armadillos, cow skulls, and so on. 

Between the two of them, resting innocently on the table, is a large bright pink box from Voodoo Doughnuts. Flint can smell them now, sugary and cloying, not at all appealing to him. He can also faintly smell minty herbal tea and jasmine perfume - the woman. She's got one of the ridiculous donuts in her hand and has just taken a bite, and Flint can't just stand there watching in silence any longer without feeling altogether too creepy.

“Hello,” he says, and they both jump. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. John, who is this beautiful young lady and why are you making her eat those terrible things while you watch her?”

“This is my ex, Madi. I really miss donuts - they are _not_ terrible, you're just too old to actually appreciate them - and I asked her if she'd bring some over and, uh, let me watch her eat them. It sounds pretty perverted now that I say it out loud,” he says, glancing at Madi with guilt written all over his face. “I do kinda wish I could trade places with her, just for a minute. Or with the donut,” he says, and he's smiling a particularly wicked smile that Flint already knows very well.

“John!” Madi exclaims, laughing. She sets the donut down and futilely brushes her hands together like she's trying to get the excess sugar off them, then gets to her feet and approaches Flint, holding out one hand. “Sorry, my hands are a little sticky. You must be Captain Flint, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you from John.”

“Please, call me James. And all good things, I hope,” Flint jokes, taking her hand and kissing the back of it lightly. “It’s good to meet you too, Madi, John has told me a lot about you as well. Although seeing you now in person it's hard for me to believe you ever let the likes of him date you,” he says wryly.

“Hey!” Silver exclaims, looking adorably put out. “Are you seriously hitting on her right now? Madi, don't fall for his gallant gentleman act, he's still just a man underneath all the cool nail polish and expensive leather and the fancy accent.”

“Actually, he reminds me of one of my favorite poems,” Madi says, looking Flint over, her gaze appraising him. “The one that starts, ‘I want a trouble-maker for a lover, blood spiller, blood drinker’--”

“--‘a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea,’” Flint finishes, beaming at her. He hasn't felt the sun in years, but when she smiles back, he can almost remember what it was like. “Rumi. I love that poem, too, and I'm flattered you think I resemble it at all.”

“Oh, great, so you're both nerds,” Silver mutters, pushing his chair back from the table with an audible scrape. He goes to the fridge and yanks it open, rummaging around in there until he finds what he's looking for - a half-full bottle of Ichor - and withdraws, slamming the door shut. He leans back against the fridge, the very picture of a sullen young person.

“Still the jealous type, I see,” Madi mutters. She takes the few steps across the kitchen to Silver, resting one elegant hand on his arm. She leans up to whisper something in his ear, so quietly even Flint can't hear her, and Silver laughs, visibly relaxing. When he meets Flint’s gaze over Madi’s shoulder, he grins.

“I should be going, I have a date with my boyfriend. Good to see you again, John, and lovely meeting you, James,” she says, and when she approaches him he can't help drawing her into a hug, even though he's not normally one for hugging people he's just met. 

“What did you say to him?” he whispers in her ear, unbearably curious.

“You’ll figure it out on your own,” Madi whispers back. She gives him a squeeze and then she's gone, shutting the front door softly behind her.

“What a truly remarkable woman,” Flint sighs after Madi leaves, ambling over to Silver, watching his throat work as he drinks straight from the bottle of Ichor. He doubts he'll ever understand how Silver can stand to drink the stuff at fridge temperature. It's not even that great warm.

“Thought you were gay,” Silver says bluntly, dragging his forearm across his mouth and squinting up at Flint.

“I am, but I can still appreciate remarkable women. I'm not blind,” Flint drawls. He plucks the now-empty bottle from Silver’s hand and sets it on the counter, crowding Silver up against the fridge. “Your manners are deplorable,” he all but growls. He doesn't know why he finds it so arousing when Silver does things like making bitchy comments or wiping his face on his arm, and he actually gets a little mad with himself for it sometimes. But it happens, just the same.

“I am but a product of my upbringing. It can't be helped,” Silver says, and he's grinning crookedly up at Flint like he knows exactly the effect he's having on him, the little shit.

Just as Flint is about to haul him upstairs and teach him a lesson, he hears the front door open again and then Eleanor’s familiar voice is calling out to him. “Father?” she says, and then he hears an extra set of footsteps and smells a human in the house - Charles Vane.

“Dammit,” Flint snarls quietly, reluctantly pulling away from Silver and turning to go greet his daughter and her pet in the front room of the house. “Ellie, dearest. What brings you here?” he asks as patiently as possible, pointedly ignoring Vane.

“I heard you were naked on the internet last night,” Eleanor says bluntly, folding her arms over her chest. “Is this true?”

“How do you know about that?” Flint asks, taken aback. He looks over his shoulder accusingly at Silver, who's studiously avoiding looking anywhere near Flint or Eleanor.

“It wasn't him. Charles saw you, both of you,” Eleanor says, and Flint feels a rush of air and then Silver is at his side, looking altogether too intrigued given the circumstances.

“You watch my show?” Silver asks Vane, grinning at him almost coquettishly, and it takes every ounce of control Flint has not to box Silver’s ridiculous little ears.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Vane says in that deep, growling voice of his, and Flint does not appreciate the way he's looking at Silver. Bad enough Vane has taken up with his daughter - does he have to leer at Flint’s brand new fledgling that way?

“Anyway,” Eleanor says, giving Vane a look that Flint can tell means ‘down, boy.’ “I was thinking, if this is going to be a regular thing for you, we could find a way to promote it at work. Put a link to the webcam site on our page, maybe bring in some more money for you and my new...brother? Stepfather? What is he to me, anyway?” she asks, eyeing Silver. “Other than a sartorial embarrassment.”

“Ouch,” Silver says, frowning. “I’ll have you know I am cultivating a very specific look.”

“Which is what, penniless redneck-slash-hipster thrift store reject?” Eleanor asks flatly, looking decidedly unimpressed. “I mean, really. Did you rip the sleeves out of that shirt with your teeth?”

“Call me a redneck again,” Silver snarls with surprising venom, getting in Eleanor’s face. His fangs are out, and Flint knows sibling rivalry when he sees it. Wonderful. He's almost tempted to just let them hash it out but he gets in between them instead, gently but firmly pushing Silver back from Eleanor.

“Enough.” He looks at Eleanor, reaching out to brush her silky blonde hair away from her face, tenderly. “On one hand I agree with you, he does need new clothes. On the other hand, he's your family now and I won't have you two killing each other. You've got to learn to get along.”

“At least make him put on something else before he comes out to the club with us tonight,” Eleanor says, and ah yes, in all the excitement Flint almost forgot he had to, you know, work.

“Can you at least put on some other trousers? Those don't really go with the...dark image of the Jolly Roger,” Flint says to Silver, giving him his best apologetic, pleading sort of look.

“Says the man who wears silky striped old man pajamas to bed. Fine, but only because _you_ asked, and because I like how you say ‘trousers’ instead of ‘pants.’ This has nothing to do with what _she_ said about how I look,” Silver spits, and stomps away, thumping up the stairs to change. His prosthetic is louder than his flesh-and-bone foot, and Flint finds the off-kilter sound of his gait strangely endearing.

“In response to your suggestion, I'm not sure I want to promote his webcam show on our site, even though sex sells and porn is everywhere in Portland,” Flint muses to Eleanor, rubbing a hand over his beard as he thinks. “I would like for him to someday get into another line of work. I've no moral problem with him being a rent boy, but I don't really think it's good for him,” he confides in her quietly, gratified when she nods her assent and drops the subject.

When Silver comes back down the stairs a few minutes later, he's still got his Dixon Motorcycle Repair shirt on, but he's traded his floral print pants for black jeans so tight they look painted on (they're so tight, in fact, they make it clear to Flint that he's not wearing any underwear). He's also taken his hair down from its topknot and affixed a soft-looking black bandanna around his neck. He looks...edible.

“Goth enough for you, sis?” he asks Eleanor acerbically, and Flint sees her twitch at being addressed that way.

“Let’s just go,” Eleanor sighs, turning to lead the way out of the house with Vane. Flint trails along behind her with Silver at his side, leaning down to whisper to him. “I like those trousers on you.”

Silver grins, glancing sideways at Flint. “Now you're just exploiting how much I like it when you say ‘trousers.’”

They take separate cars to the Jolly Roger, Flint and Silver in Flint’s Impala and Vane and Eleanor in her sensible hybrid. There's already a line of people waiting to get in the front door as the four of them slip in through the back.

The night proceeds rather unremarkably, until Flint steps outside to confab with Billy before he leaves for the night and sees Silver, cornered up against the exterior of the club by a diminutive but dangerous-looking blonde vampire he recognizes as Ned Low. He immediately feels the need to intervene.

“What’s going on?” Flint asks in his most authoritative voice. Silver doesn't look that scared, but Flint can just tell it isn't exactly a friendly interaction the two are having.

“Was talkin’ to your new friend here,” Ned drawls in his Deep South accent. He's from...Georgia, originally, Flint thinks. “Says his name’s John Silver, but he don't look like no Silver t’ me. Matter a’ fact, this boy looks just like a--”

“Well, it's been great talking to you, Ned, but I'm afraid I must be going. Have to get my beauty rest and all,” Silver says, ducking under Ned’s arm. He grabs Flint and hisses ‘move, now,’ at him, so Flint walks him away, to where he parked the car. 

He drives them home in silence, and doesn't miss how Silver is staring out the car window, resolutely not looking at Flint.

“You know,” he begins as he shuts the front door behind them once they get home, taking off his coat and hanging it up. “I’ve told you a lot about myself, including some very personal things. I can't help but realize you've told me next to nothing about yourself, in return.”

“Don’t do that,” Silver says, and he sounds tired. “If you wanna know something about me, just ask.”

“I think I just did,” Flint says, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Silver. Waiting. 

Silver looks like he's having an argument with himself, and when he finally speaks he sounds like it's paining him to do so. “I’ve told you everything I can stand to tell you. I've dropped hints, I just-- I can't make myself spell it all out in words. It's too much,” he says. “Maybe someday...but not yet. It'll have to be enough for you to know me the way you do now - no one from nowhere. Is that enough?” he asks, and despite the hardness of his voice Flint can smell fear on him, like he's afraid of what Flint’s reaction will be.

Flint reaches out for him and draws him close, nuzzling into his hair. He just holds him in silence for a long moment, one hand creeping up under Silver’s shirt to rub his back, scratching gently the way he knows Silver likes. “We should get to bed,” he finally murmurs, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

“I’m gonna stay up. I'll be in the bedroom with you where it's safe but I don't feel like sleeping yet,” Silver says into Flint’s shoulder.

“You’ll get the bleeds if you stay up too late,” Flint warns him softly.

“I don't believe you. I don't think that's a real thing,” Silver murmurs.

“Suit yourself,” Flint says. They go upstairs and get ready for bed, Flint putting on his favorite pajamas and Silver settling in bed next to him in just a pair of boxers, his phone in hand. He's the last thing Flint sees before he goes to sleep.

He wakes up a few hours later, groggy and confused, to Silver shaking him by the shoulder. “James! I'm bleeding,” he whimpers, and yes, he certainly is: there's blood running down his face from his eyes and nose, it's leaking from his ears, there's even blood pooling under his fingernails and spilling out onto his hands.

“I told you,” Flint mutters. He gets out of bed and takes Silver with him, carrying him to the en-suite bathroom. He sets him down carefully, making sure he's steady on his one foot before letting go. He wets a washcloth and starts cleaning Silver up, tsking softly. “Now do you believe me that the bleeds are a real problem?” he asks as he cleans Silver’s ears and then gently wipes the blood off his face.

“I really don't like having blood all over my face like that,” Silver says, and he's shivering a little under Flint’s careful touch. “It...reminds me of when my cousin had his accident. Well. When my cousin had his face bashed in, I mean,” Silver says, his eyes closed, his throat working.

“How old were you when you saw that happen?” Flint asks, taking Silver’s hand in his own and cleaning the blood away meticulously.

“Thirteen,” Silver says, hardly above a whisper. “He was nineteen.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Flint says quietly, at the same time feeling immeasurably pleased that Silver trusted him with that information. He sets the washcloth aside and takes Silver back to the bed, tucking him in and curling around him. “Go to sleep,” he huffs in Silver’s ear, and moments later they're both dead to the world.

 

\---

 

The next night, Flint sleeps in a bit past sunset again, and is surprised to find Silver has already left the house when he gets up. Silver was kind enough to text him before he left, so at least Flint knows where he is - ‘gone to meet a client. Don't worry he's vampire too, won't fuck him to death. See you later for dinner. Breakfast? Whatever.’

The only other male vampire in their area that Flint is familiar with is Ned Low, and given his strange behavior around Silver the previous night, he's immediately suspicious. He putters around the house while he waits for Silver to get home, taking a shower, dressing in cashmere pajama pants (he's inordinately fond of soft, luxurious things like cashmere and silk and buttery leather) and an old Jolly Roger t-shirt. He heats up some of his preferred flavor of Ichor and drinks it out of a teacup, rereading an old favorite book and thinking wistfully about how much he misses actual tea.

Silver finally returns a few hours before dawn, and he smells like sweat and blood and-- shame, bizarrely enough. And an undercurrent of fear.

“Are you alright?” Flint asks, going to the fridge and getting Silver’s flavor of Ichor for him, handing it to him and looking him up and down. He's a mess, and he looks...defeated.

Silver cracks the bottle open and takes a long, thirsty drink before answering. “I’m fine, just worn out. I forget not everyone is as good, giving, and game as you are,” he says. He finishes the bottle in another long swallow and hands it back to Flint, raising the hem of his black shirt to wipe his face on it. “I’m gonna shower and then I think I'll make it an early night.” He kisses Flint briefly and retreats up the stairs, humming a song under his breath.

“Were you with Ned Low?” Flint calls after him, and Silver pauses on the stairs, which Flint takes as a yes. “Did he pay you well, at least?”

“Uh, yep. Sure did, he's old and rich like you,” Silver says, and Flint can tell he's lying even from a distance. Silver is gone before Flint can question him any further, but he makes a mental note to press the issue again later.

Things continue this way for a week: Silver leaves the house just after sunset to go see Ned Low, then returns hours later seemingly exhausted, acting guilty and cagey and keeping surprisingly mum about how much Ned is (or isn't) paying him.

Flint has had about enough of it by the end of the week. He knows Low isn't paying Silver, and he can't figure out why Silver keeps going to see him anyway if there's no money and little pleasure in it for him. The only thing Flint can surmise is that perhaps Low has something on Silver that he's afraid will get out. But what? What about Silver’s past could be so dark that he'd willingly submit to Ned Low rather than just confess? Flint already knows Silver’s not had an easy life. You don't become that skittish and distrustful of people for no reason. You don't tell stories about seeing your cousin get his face bashed in if you grow up in a nice, safe suburb with two parents and a white picket fence.

Flint asks Eleanor to come over and talk with him about it while Silver is out, and they wind up sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a warmed bottle of Ichor between them.

“I miss tea,” Eleanor sighs, her delicate hands wrapped around the teacup full of Ichor. She's positively glowing by the light of the full moon outside, which is shining into the kitchen - she was beautiful before, when he knew her as a human woman, but she's downright ethereal now.

“Me, too. Did you know John usually drinks this stuff cold? Straight from the bottle, too. I've tried to civilize him enough to where he’ll microwave it first, at least, but no,” Flint says, smiling because he can't help himself.

“He’s an interesting boy, my new brother. Did you think about turning him at all before the accident, or was it something of a snap decision?” Eleanor asks, and Flint can feel her studying his face, watching for any minute change in expression.

“I did consider it,” Flint admits softly. “I hadn't brought it up to him at all, but the idea was there just the same. I-- I care for him deeply, in a way I wasn't sure I'd be able to care for a man ever again. I love him,” he says, and it's not exactly easy to get the words out but he knows it's necessary, for Eleanor to understand where he's coming from.

“I’m so glad to see you happy with him, truly,” Eleanor says, resting her small, cool hand on his forearm. “I know I make fun of John, but I have to, don't I? I'm his big sister. Really, aside from his fashion sense I think he's a decent man, and a good match for you.”

Flint smiles brightly at her and is about to respond when suddenly there's a commotion outside. He hears Silver’s voice, and another’s - the voice of Ned Low. He's up from the table in an instant, charging out of the house into the night.

Low has Silver by the throat, lifting him off the ground while Silver writhes and kicks helplessly in his grasp. Silver has superhuman strength, yes, but so does Low, and he's older and stronger. “Listen here, you redneck, meth-cookin’ piece a’ trailer trash. You ain't got no quarter here, you can't tell me no. You best gimme what I asked you for, or your fancy new vampire daddy is gonna find out all about you. I ain't fixin’ to ask you twice,” Low is saying. “You really think he's still gonna want you when I tell him that--” And then there's a blur of motion and Ned Low straight up explodes. He flies apart in a shower of blood and other viscera, and it's not until Flint sees Eleanor standing there with her fangs bared, a wooden spoon from the kitchen in her right hand, that he realizes what's just happened.

“You staked him,” Flint says, aghast and incredibly impressed. He's raised a _good_ daughter.

“He was threatening my family, and I don't tolerate that,” Eleanor says, helping Silver up from where he fell to the grass when Low exploded. “I do wish he hadn't gotten his blood on my shoes, though. These were my favorites.”

“He’s dead?” Silver asks, looking to Flint for confirmation. “Like, really really dead?”

“Yes,” Flint says. “He’s been staked - handily, with a wooden spoon of all things - and he met the true death. And now Eleanor and I should dispose of his remains before the sun rises. You go on inside, get cleaned up and go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Silver says, still looking a little shell-shocked, understandably. He retreats inside and Flint makes quick work of what's left of Ned Low with Eleanor’s help, digging a hole in the backyard and burying the puddle of viscera that he's dissolved into. It isn't Flint’s preferred method of dealing with the repercussions of homicide, but it'll have to do. It's not like they can just leave the pile of Ned-goo on the lawn for passersby to see in the morning.

After he thanks Eleanor sincerely for her help, hugs her, and bids her goodnight, Flint finally goes inside, heading upstairs to look for Silver. He finds him already tucked up in bed, wearing a t-shirt Flint recognizes as his own. He's had a shower, and if not for the faraway look in his eyes, Flint almost wouldn't know anything out of the ordinary had happened. He changes out of his own bloodied clothes and into pajamas, then cleans up in the en-suite bathroom before joining Silver in bed.

“How do you feel?” he asks as gently as possible, stroking Silver’s hair back from his face. He aches to know what Low was holding over Silver’s head, what all he was threatening to tell Flint, but he knows better than to press his fledgling on that subject.

“I’ll be fine,” Silver says, cuddling up close to Flint, resting his head on his chest. “I can't believe Eleanor did that for me,” Flint hears him say softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

“Of course she did. You’re her family now,” Flint murmurs. He pets Silver’s damp, sweet-smelling hair idly until they both fall asleep.

 

\---

 

The next night Flint wakes alone again, and feels a spike of panic until he remembers that Ned Low is dead and he can't take advantage of Silver anymore. He leaves the bedroom and follows the distant strains of music downstairs until he finds Silver sitting in the living room, an iPad and Sookie the cat both competing for his attention.

Flint pauses, listening to the song Silver’s got playing on the iPad. “Johnny Cash, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Mm. I've always liked his music. He's the reason my mama named me John,” Silver says, glancing up. He sets the iPad on the coffee table and pats the space next to him on the couch, a clear invitation if Flint’s ever seen one. Sookie makes her exit as Flint joins Silver on the couch, but not before she rubs against Flint’s ankles and purrs a soft ‘hi there, Captain’ at him.

“Is he really?” Flint asks, sitting next to Silver with one arm on the back of the couch. “So your first name is actually John, but your last name...”

“...is not Silver,” he says quietly, fiddling with a hole in the hem of his worn old t-shirt. It has the sleeves torn out like most of his shirts do, and across the front is the word ‘Detroit,’ spelled out in the shape of a smoking gun. At least he's not wearing those floral print pants again - just ordinary gray sweatpants.

“Mine isn't Flint, or at least it wasn't when I was born,” he confides in him, turning slightly to face Silver on the couch. “Most people don't know that.”

“So you understand where I'm coming from, a little,” Silver says, and then he's reaching out, resting one hand lightly on Flint’s cheek. 

“I do, yes,” Flint says, leaning in close to Silver. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks in a whisper. With all Silver probably went through at the hands of Ned Low, he doesn't want him to rush into anything before he's truly ready. He never wants Silver to feel pressured to be with him that way.

“I need this,” Silver whispers back. He kisses him fiercely, and Flint can feel the press of Silver’s large fangs against his lower lip. His world turns and shifts, and he finds himself sitting in Silver’s lap, straddling his thighs with Silver’s hands on his hips.

“So you're in that kind of mood,” Flint says when he pulls back, grinning crookedly down at Silver.

“Mmhm,” Silver says quietly, grinning up at Flint in response. He helps Flint out of his pajama pants, and Flint reaches into Silver’s sweatpants and draws him out, giving him a few quick strokes just to tease.

Fortunately enough, Flint is always prepared and there's a small bottle of lube hidden under the couch. He shifts impatiently in Silver’s lap while those clever fingers stretch him open, and when he's sure he's ready, he sinks down on Silver with a low groan.

Silver tips his head back slightly, his eyes shut and his mouth open, and Flint finds himself thinking helpless thoughts about how beautiful Silver is, how much he loves him, even as he rides him and digs his fingernails into his skin hard enough to momentarily leave marks.

“John, yes, that's it,” Flint gasps, leaning in to press his forehead to Silver’s, feeling him start to buck up into him, and that's just what he needs.

“You’re so good, so good, oh, fuck,” Silver whimpers, and his strong arms are encircling Flint’s waist, holding tight to him while he fucks up into him. He’s going at him so hard and so fast it would probably hurt if Flint were human, but fortunately for them both he's not, and so he enjoys the rough edge Silver is showing him.

Flint grinds down against Silver once, twice more, and then comes between them with a cry of satisfaction, feeling pleasure roll through him in waves. He lets himself collapse forward against Silver, and echoes his groan when he feels a Silver finish inside him.

“I hope I wasn't too rough with you,” Silver murmurs after a little while, nuzzling behind Flint’s ear and practically purring, obviously basking in his afterglow. “I had it in my mind to do the whole tender lovemaking thing, but then I...got excited.”

“Is love a tender thing?” Flint asks, making a soft noise as he climbs carefully out of Silver’s lap, extending a hand to help him from the couch so they can clean up and get on with the night.

“It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn,” Silver replies as he stands shakily on his prosthetic and his one good foot. His words surprise the hell out of Flint, and the surprise must show on his face. “What? I know some things,” Silver says as he pulls his pants back up, and the little smile on his face is almost shy.

Flint gets the feeling then that he could spend a thousand years with Silver and still be surprised by him every once in a while. He pulls Silver close to him, pressing their sticky selves together, and nibbles on one of his ears. A dozen thoughts race through his mind, things he might like to say to Silver about how he feels, but he settles on the simplest one. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he feels Silver say against his skin, and a happy little thrill goes through him. Still, he can't help saying the next thing that comes to mind.

“If you really love me, you'll let me get rid of those floral trousers.”


End file.
